Category: Poetry

I had pushed my glasses onto the top of my head – holding my hair back. I reach up to steady them as I run for the train but they are not there. They are in my pocket, already taken off. It is only remembered sensation that I now wear – A tightness behind my…

This post Letting Go of Perfection was written for Linda Green’s fantastic book blog, Books of All Kinds, which you can visit (and I recommend you do!) here: http://booksofallkinds.weebly.com/ “My book, it’s perfect. It’s all there; it’s unsullied. But as soon as I start to write it, it just gets less and less perfect, and in the end I’ll have…

We are obsessed with endings. Borders. Edges. The climax The conclusion Last words Break ups “How does it end?” “I just needed some closure.” “The ending was a real let down.” “All’s well that ends well.” We pick apart final scenes finish lines grand finales destinations deaths. But we do not…

I was empty. A hole the same shape as I am cut into the room behind me like paper. It was filled with blue sky. Air. Wide open space. Nothing. Wind whistled through me. I had run dry. I closed my eyes. I inhaled. I exhaled. I coloured myself back in.

Christmas at Sopers was Christmas. Your beautiful house, cold kitchen tiles and creaking doors. I held canapés at your parties. I was the proudest Grandchild, standing in my best dress, falling in love with all your friends. I learnt how to make vol au vents, the word ‘vermillion’, how to…

Occasionally I trip over the shrapnel of a love concealed. My haunted frontline. Incandescent devices lace the minefield. I never dreamt that when I felt it, my heart would be my warhead. But these three words are charged and ready to explode. Tentative, long-grown, now well-prepared; free and easy truth in my head, At peril…

The disaster is an artist, drawing me in ragged lines of chalk, Rolling me up into a hollow and painting me a smile. There has been a fall: the winter sky has seen my mind. It has turned my head inside out, and covered the world in fresh, white snow. My palette adulterate has…

We are an error, made in gravity’s season as the sky falls. Desperate Atlases to a fragile, fragmented late summer rule. I move towards your illegal glow; Behind me, you put up walls. My new laughter shines like a candle and makes me cruel. When I lie on my side, in the dark, I…